


All Roads Lead

by imonlyobsessed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, POV Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3985756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imonlyobsessed/pseuds/imonlyobsessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you love someone, you find them everywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Roads Lead

**Author's Note:**

> This was written several years ago, and I'm pretty sure this was the second thing I ever wrote for SPN. But my laptop keeps giving me BSOD and I'm worried, so I'm storing my shitty writing here.

Sam’s Modern Lit professor had a total hard-on for Shakespeare. Everything they studied, she would swear was directly influenced by him. Every tragedy pulled it’s archetype from his tragedies. Every character was based on a Shakespearean persona. She would tell them, “All roads lead to Shakespeare. His influence is everywhere.” Sam thought she was full of shit. Sometimes a red wagon in the grass was just a red wagon in the grass. But she did teach him one important truth. When you love someone, you find them everywhere. It was true at Stanford, it was true during those four months of Hell, and it’s true now. Everything is a reminder.

  
He definitely found them in music. The blast of a classic rock song from a passing car, the drifting sounds of a guitar rift from his old neighbor’s apartment. When he’d studied classic poetry, he’d cried the first time he’d read To Lucasta. The person he loved had that kind of honor. Sam would never admit that the reason he’d started eating healthy was because all the junk food and roadside diners had made him homesick. Or that the first time he hooked up with Jessica it was because of her barely there freckles, green eyes, and blonde hair.

  
He tightened his arm around the sleeping body next to him and breathed in that unique scent; old leather and gas, the harsh flowery smell of hotel soap and the acrid burn of gunpowder. No, Sam’s professor was wrong. Shakespeare might have been important, but in Sam’s life, all roads lead to Dean.


End file.
